This is a semi-fictional story.
He had been her best friend since middle school, the boy next door. In high school he taught her to roller skate and drove her home after school, since he had a car and she didn’t. He was her best bud at the college they both attended. He sat in the bride’s side of the chapel when she got married. He served her tequila shots and junk food while she recovered from her divorce.
It was during one of these tequila-induced “damn the soulless bastard” evenings that comfort took a more physical outlet.
“We were both appalled the next day,” she says now, years later. “We were sure we’d just destroyed the friendship.” They made a vow that it would never happen again. Then they found themselves unable to keep it.
Two months later her divorce became final… and the little stick showed a plus sign.
He proposed immediately. And she said “no” immediately.
He proposed again. She declined again.
They were going to raise the child together, and stay best friends.Their families were unconvinced. He was unconvinced. She was determined. “I had one failed marriage, and I thought I loved him. I was not going to get married again just because I was married.”
But they did end up getting married, though she didn’t have another big wedding. They sneaked off to a justice of the peace shortly before their son made his first appearance.
Ten years and three kids later (two more after the surprise), she says that she doesn’t really know when she realized that she was, in fact, in love with the man who is now her husband. “I kept thinking that I didn’t feel the same way about him as about my first husband. I recognized ‘that’ as love, as being in love. But I’d love D for most of my life, as a friend, and I just couldn’t see past it.”
Just because it took while doesn’t mean it wasn’t a love story.